I present to you this brief 'self-biography' since I believe autobiographies must be for cars.

Let me start off by saying that I am easy to get along with as long as you understand I have never been wrong in my adult life. Well, scratch that. It's not exactly true. Once a few years ago, I mistakenly thought I was wrong about something and it of course turned out later that I was right after all. So technically, I was wrong for a very brief period.

Another fascinating tidbit about me is that if you consider all my consistent denials throughout the years despite repeated accusations on the matter, I have never farted in my life. At least publicly anyway. He who smelt it dealt it is what I always say.

I grew up the old-fashioned way. The method my dad used to teach me how to swim will certainly illustrate this. When I was maybe five or six we canoed out to the middle of the lake and without warning, he tossed me overboard into the water. Figuring out how to swim and get back to shore wasn't too hard but getting out of that locked trunk first was more of a challenge.

My dad was also rather parsimonious, pretty tight with a buck. He always stressed frugality over extravagance. That's why I was rather surprised one birthday when he presented me with my very own Choo-Choo train. Of course I found out later that he had searched all over town beforehand to see if anyone sold a Choo train.

Because my folks were so persistent about it, I've always felt compelled to do the right thing in the end. For instance, when I was little, I once stole a watermelon from the fruit peddler's cart when he wasn't looking. I scurried to my secret hiding place in the woods and sat down to eat it when I realized I shouldn't do that. It just wasn't right. So I went back and replaced it on the cart and stole a ripe one.

I won't tell you exactly where I live. It's not so much that I'm paranoid but it's just that if you came to my house like the goofy groupie that you are, I would not only be annoyed but really quite embarrassed since I haven't yet repainted my door or fixed my doorbell. Then you would know how lazy I am, but then I just admitted that anyway.

I will tell you that I was born and raised in Boston, good ole Beantown, hence the preoccupation with farts touched upon previously. My parents came from different countries. My father came from Iceland and my mother came from Cuba so I guess that makes me an Ice Cube. Anyhow, the section of town we lived in was very nice. My dad convinced my uncle who was a psychiatrist to move there too. He in turn encouraged a colleague of his to settle down there. They became partners and started up a practice and hired me to run the office. Part of my job was to persuade even more of their shrink friends to live on our street and the adjoining streets. Ultimately, this group of homes stretched for a whole square mile. I had developed a mental block.

After that I went to work with my dad instead. When his origami business folded, I was on my own. I decided to become an entrepreneur not so much because I wanted to be my own boss but because it was such a cool word. I developed an interesting new edible treat, which I marketed to local supermarkets. It was a long, green, fuzzy, hard-outside, soft-inside, sweet, seedless vegetable aptly titled 'Long Green Fuzzy Hard-outside Soft-inside Sweet Seedless Vegetable'. Everything was going along fine until a certain defect manifested itself in my wondrous delicacy. Apparently, even the slightest variation in room temperature would cause them to regurgitate and spew forth massive gobs of green slimy gunk long distances until their guts were exhausted. There were reports of little old ladies minding their own business way at the other end of the aisle getting bonked off their feet. Little kids just chilling out sitting in the front of the shopping carts three aisles over all of a sudden looked like little green Martians so when their moms turned around from the shelf to put something in the cart, it scared the living daylights out of them. The people nearby in the produce section got the worst of it including one manager who came by my house. He was screaming at me about the mess and the cost of the cleanup. Was I wrong for selling them to him? Of course not, otherwise my errorless streak would be over! Obviously, he was wrong for buying them. I didn't give him any money but I did lend him a mop. I never got sued or anything but I never did get my mop back.

I have to admit I am not much into politics. A while back when modern life had me feeling somewhat constricted and congested, I was active in the neosynephrine movement, but other than that, I haven't been very politically active. I did buy a bumper sticker that says, 'Save the Whales...Trade them for Valuable Prizes' but I'm not sure that counts.

I'm not overly religious either but I do like the idea of the Rapture. What a neat way to avoid the Tribulation period that follows. I sure hope they're right about that one. I just hope when that day comes (C'mon, you know...the passage where two guys are working in the field and one of them all of a sudden vanishes upward) that I'm not doing something stupid. What if at that very instant I'm casually walking by the fruit section at the market picking and wolfing down a few grapes while no one is looking? What if at that precise moment I'm inconspicuously jiggling the vending machine at work just the right way so I can get a few free M&Ms even though I've already gotten my quarter's worth? And what if I'm flipping through my mostly boring cable channels but at that exact point I've stopped, albeit momentarily, at a porno channel to see what all the panting and moaning is about? My head is going to explode. Let's move on.

Actually, I believe God has a pretty good sense of humor. Just look at the platypus, the penguin, the
ostrich, and the avocado.

Maintaining good health is important to me but I find smoking too enjoyable to quit. Everywhere I went I kept seeing 'Smoking Is Bad For You', 'Smoking Is Bad For You', 'Smoking Is Bad For You' so I gave up reading. I used to be into music a lot too but not so much anymore. My doctor told me I should slow down-too much wine, women, and song-so I gave up singing.

I know you would like me to continue but I have to leave you now for some other pressing matters. I have to re-alphabetize my spice rack for one thing. It's gotten all out of order lately. The debate raging inside of me for some time now is whether to put pepper with the Ps along with paprika etc and salt with the Ss along with sesame seed etc or give them their own little section at the top or bottom of the cabinet. Ah, the hell with it! I'll just leave them on the table and forget about incorporating them among their less utilized brethren within the confines of said cabinet.

I also have to continue compiling my giant lint ball. It is getting quite large now, about the size of a tennis ball, and I am very proud of it. With my clothes due back from the cleaners today and my wash downstairs almost done, it will be pure heaven. So many a garment to peruse. Socks especially. So many opportunities to pick all kinds of different lint morsels to feed to my majestic omnivorous polychromatic master orb.

Well, that about wraps it up. I'm done talking about my interesting self. I'm feeling somewhat self-centered about it so why don't you take over...and talk about me to someone else. Be effusive with praise and orgiastic with your hagiography. Otherwise, I'll find out who you are and send some of those puking vegetable thingies I invented. I know they're off the market but I still have a few growing in my basement and at the ready if need be!

OK! Onto my all time favorite jokes now!


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